Testo Erode the Person

Born into a state of decay
the spirit, like soil, erodes.
Devoid of sustenance,
all life withers.

Infected from the beginning,
bred of negativity.
Engrave my hate in bitter skin. Drift into a comfortable abyss.

Embittered from years of this,
time and time again.
My spirit has been soiled,
maintained by perpetual hate.

Incapable of growth,
all seeds feed the disease.

I''ll always be alone,
like I''ve been since I was born.
A battered, weakened stray,
embraced by my dejection.
Yield to grasp of self-worthlessness.
Yield to grasp of self-worthlessness.